I was drawing a picture, using a pencil and a sheet of paper, of the face of Joan of Arc, not as I have seen it rendered, in paintings and in still frames from movies, though all those have been beautiful, and have moved me, and will remain with me, I think, in my memory, until I die...yes, I was drawing a picture of her face, not as I have seen it in renderings, all of which are dear to me, and which I hope have changed me, if only in the way that they can, but as it suggests itself to me when I am sitting at my desk in my apartment, with my eyes closed, so that I cannot be distracted by any object upon which my gaze might settle, and I try to imagine or evoke it.